


Scarred

by doctornemesis



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Battle, Bottom Roronoa Zoro, Clothed Sex, Comfort Sex, Conversations, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Friendship/Love, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Rough Sex, Rushed Sex, Scarification, Scars, Top Vinsmoke Sanji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctornemesis/pseuds/doctornemesis
Summary: "The open wound that traversed diagonally across Zoro’s back would fare far better than the one across his chest, but it was shameful, and Sanji found it near impossible to breathe whenever his eyes settled upon it."___After Zoro takes a hit meant for Sanji, the cook reflects on the realities of their relationship and what they mean to each other.





	Scarred

**Author's Note:**

> I've missed writing for these two, honestly, so please enjoy my smut offering. Also, I have no set time for when this takes place except that it's after the two year gap.

  The open wound that traversed diagonally across Zoro’s back would fare far better than the one across his chest, but it was _shameful_ , and Sanji found it near impossible to breathe whenever his eyes settled upon it. The cut would eventually scar, and the blonde didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive himself. If he hadn’t been distracted on the battlefield he could have watched his _own_ back, but instead, Zoro took the hit meant for him— _him_ , of all people! Sanji wanted to curse the damn marimo’s existence, but held his tongue at Chopper’s insistence. The poor kid found himself in an absolute panic, his medical knowledge flying out the window as he ran to and fro, blubbering all the while.

 

  “You stupid swordsman,” he said, wanting to add more to that statement, but couldn’t as Zoro struck him down with a stern look over his shoulder.

 

  “This cut is really bad, Zoro!” Chopper cried out, sifting through rolls of gauze and medical tape as he did so.

 

  “The angle would have killed the cook,” he said, as though that explained it all. Zoro kept his head bowed, eyes averted as he placed a solitary hand upon the small doctor’s shoulder, calming him down in an instant.

 

  Chopper sighed, but said nothing further as he cleansed the swordsman’s wounds and Sanji looked on, craving a smoke, but refusing to walk away. He stood in absolute silence as their ships doctor worked diligently to patch Zoro up, fretting over the green haired bastard periodically. Sanji forgot sometimes how close the two of them were, with Zoro often treating Chopper like a younger brother instead of just nakama. The cook wanted to argue, to kick and scream, but knew he would be banished from the sick bay if he did so, and he couldn’t have that. If the marimo could sit in perfect silence as Chopper stitched him up, then so, too, could he.

 

  “You don’t have to stay here,” Zoro said as Chopper wrapped a long stretch of gauze across his back and over his shoulder.

 

  “I’ll leave when I damn well please,” he snapped, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the door frame, almost as though he could keep all others out; as though he could keep anyone from seeing the gash that now marred the swordsman’s back.

 

  Zoro merely shrugged, hissing as he did so. “Suit yourself,” he said through gritted teeth.

 

  An hour in, and Sanji began to brainstorm on how he could ensure the best possible healing for Zoro’s wound. Hell, there were remedies to lessen scarring to some degree, and he was sure that he could find it if he just knew where to look. The next Island they docked at he would locate it—whatever _it_ was.

 

  “Okay, Zoro. I have to go over a few things with Luffy about possible restrictions for you, and then I’ll be right back to go over them with you and Sanji. Wait here,” Chopper said, jumping off of the cot as Sanji moved away from the door.

 

  “ _Tch_. If you say so,” he said, jaw clenched in annoyance, but he didn’t otherwise talk back to the tiny doctor.

 

  Sanji gave a curt nod as Chopper took his leave, waiting for the door to close before finding his voice again. “Why?” he asked, hands in his pockets as he moved to stand in front of the other man.

 

  “Why, what?” Zoro asked, brow raised as he cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

 

  “You know _what_ , you shitty bastard! Don’t fuck with me right now!”

 

  “Calm down, cook,” he said, wrapping an arm around Sanji’s waist as he pulled him in close to his side.

 

  “How can I?!” he asked, tilting Zoro’s face up so that their eyes met. “Your _back_ , Zoro….”

 

  Zoro chuckled, and it pissed Sanji off to no end. “I’d be pretty shitty nakama if I allowed you to get run through. It’s my fault I got cut. I should have been faster, but I wasn’t thinking straight either...also my fault,” he said.

 

  “I shouldn’t have worried so much about facing off against a group of women…”

 

  “No, you shouldn’t have, but we all have our weaknesses.”

 

  Sanji shot him a shit-eating grin at that. “Are you saying that I’m your weakness, marimo?” he asked, teasing as he found that he could breathe again, if just so.

 

  “Yeah, cook. That’s what I’m saying,” Zoro said with a crooked little smirk, yanking on Sanji’s tie as he brought said cook down for a harsh kiss.

 

  Sanji groaned, relief flooding throughout his system as he threaded his fingers through the swordsman’s short hair, his tongue sliding across the seal of Zoro’s lips. Zoro welcomed him into his mouth, each fighting to gain the upper hand as the swordsman pulled Sanji down to sit on his lap, ignoring his injuries in order to bask in the other man’s presence. Long, deft fingers trailed across Zoro’s bare chest, a warm palm sliding down along a taut torso, reaching around to grab the swordsman’s ass for good measure.

 

  “You’re pretty handsy today, huh?” Zoro said as the pair parted for breath, a cocky little grin plastered across his face as a blush tinged his cheeks.  

 

  “Shut up, you shitty swordsman,” he said, tilting Zoro’s jaw to and fro as he attacked his mouth in anyway he saw fit. It was the perfect distraction—for a while, anyway.

 

  The two were so invested in each other that they didn’t hear the door open, nor did the small doctor’s hooves clacking against the wooden boards of the Thousand Sunny rouse them. Zoro proved to be an absolute blind spot for him as Chopper coughed loud enough to startle them both. Sanji would have slid off of Zoro’s lap and onto the floor if not for the damn marimo catching him, ignoring his most recent injury.

 

  The absolute idiot.

 

  “This was what I needed to talk to you two about,” he confirmed, ignoring Sanji’s plight and outright embarrassment as he jumped up into his seat, wriggling around until he got comfortable.

 

  “Oh, god,” Sanji cried out, mortified as he stood up straight, putting as much distance between Zoro and himself as he could.

 

  “No sex. Got it,” Zoro said, interjecting, and the cook didn’t know what was worse: Zoro’s nonchalance or the fact he’d confirmed to a _teenager_ that the two were not only sexually active, but they were sexually active with _each other_.

 

  “I don’t want your stitches to rip, is all,” Chopper said, popping a lollipop into his mouth. “So, you can’t do anything that will move those muscles until those stitches are ready to come out in a couple of days. No weight lifting for awhile, as well. If you want the scarring to be as minimal as possible, and I know that you do, you must not push yourself. Consider it a much needed vacation.”

 

  Sanji swallowed, hard, as he turned to look at the other man, studying the intensity that always appeared to surround him. He waited to see Zoro’s reaction, but it never came to fruition as he clasped his hands together, deep in thought. Sanji didn’t know what to make of that.

 

  “If I can, I will abide by your rules,” Zoro said, staring at the young doctor as he did so. “If the crew isn’t in danger, I’ll refrain, but that’s all I can promise.”

 

  “That’s all I could ever ask for,” Chopper said, beaming up at their nakama as they exchanged gentle grins. “You’re free to go.”

 

   “Great,” Zoro said, moving to stand, rolling his shoulders just so. “I’m thirsty.”

 

  “Bastard! Don’t think that just because you’re injured that I’ll give you free reign over the kitchen!”

 

  Sanji _did_ hand over free reign to the damned swordsman, and he tried—and failed—to persuade both himself as well as the others that it had nothing to do with guilt. Conferring with Chopper and Robin produced a list of possible ingredients they already had onboard. The cook spent hours of his own free time conjuring up possible remedies to the marimo’s scarring, much to said marimo’s chagrin. Out of ten possible fixtures, only one smelled pleasant in any sense of the word. Zoro complained about all of them, deciding that Sanji was wasting his time, but submitted himself to the experimentation anyway.

 

  “Cook, this shit is sticky,” he groused but otherwise relaxed under Sanji’s touch. The trust that lingered there never ceased to both astound Sanji as well as cultivate a deep sense of longing in him. It’s what drove him to this.

 

  “At least it doesn’t smell like shit,” he argued, rubbing the honey-infused substance across a broad back. A back that carried them all, whether the blonde wanted to admit it or not.

 

  “I hate it.”

 

  “You hate everything.”

 

  Zoro muttered under his breath that _that_ wasn’t true, but otherwise remained still. The cook took the time to study the stretch of skin before him, desiring to touch him in a much more intimate manner, but refrained. The shitty swordsman’s stitches had been removed, but the flesh remained shiny and new with the loss of tissue surrounding the area. Sanji offered to take care of Zoro with nothing in return, but the green haired bastard had refused him. He had the nerve to tell Sanji that he wouldn’t be able to hold back from wanting to touch him, and so they abstained.

 

  A week had passed since then, and Sanji felt himself slowly going insane.

 

  He began to rub soothing circles across Zoro’s lower back without realizing it, a drop of honey staining the swordsman’s pants as he drew closer to the band of them. Zoro stiffened underneath his touch, aware now of the blonde’s less than wholesome intentions, pressing up into it after less than a minute, gripping the mat laid out beneath him. The two _were_ alone in the crow’s nest, they _could_ do this before Zoro’s shift ended and Brook took over for the evening watch.

 

  “Curly…”

 

  “I’ll stop if you want me to stop,” and Zoro knew him to be a man of his word.

 

  More or less, anyway.

 

  “Fuck, no. Don’t stop,” he groaned, and Sanji could only grin down at Zoro, pleased with himself as he yanked the other man’s pants down and around his ankles.

 

  Sanji could never stand the sensation of hunger, and he’d been without Zoro’s body for far too long. Apparently, the swordsman agreed, not bothering to chastise the cook for his messy hands that transferred said mess to one of three pairs of black pants he owned. Zoro held an affinity for the number three, whether he admitted it or not.

 

  Three swords.

 

  Three piercings.

 

  The third son born to the Vinsmoke dynasty.

 

  Sanji chuckled as he leaned forward, sinking his teeth into Zoro’s left side, delighting in the off kilter sound he received for his efforts. The swordsman tasted of honey and essential oils, sweat and heat of the afternoon. If the blonde hadn’t been turned on before, he most certainly would be now as he groped a firm ass in between his hands, squeezing as Zoro reared back, his body longing for more.

 

  Sanji swore he could deliver it for him.

 

  “You think you can handle me like this?”

 

  Zoro shot him a hard glare back over his shoulder, the sharp angles of his cheekbones sending a wave of lust washing over Sanji’s person. “I can handle anything,” he decreed, and the cook could only smirk at that notion.

 

  He didn’t doubt that for a second.

 

  “Yeah?” he questioned anyway, spreading the swordsman’s cheeks apart, circling a confident finder across Zoro’s entrance.  

 

  “Bring it on,” Zoro gritted out, grunting as Sanji applied more pressure, teasing him without mercy.

 

  “Fuck, you make everything so _difficult_ ,” he muttered, mixing oil with saliva as he prodded Zoro’s entrance open slowly, gauging each and every reaction the marimo dared to make. “It’s really, really hot, too.”

 

  “I’m not made of glass, you shitty cook,” Zoro said, propped up on his forearms as he pressed his hips back, seeking Sanji’s touch despite his general bad attitude.

 

  Sanji studied the way in which Zoro tried to arch his back, pinned down by one of the cook’s pristine and valuable hands. The damn marimo once confessed to his minor obsession with them, desiring only that they would never be marred so that the blonde could reach his dream in one piece. Zoro wore his own scars like a badge of honor, but he didn’t want them to deface his nakama if it could be helped.

 

  Sanji never questioned Zoro about the scar laid across his left eye, but something deep down inside him whispered in his ear that the swordsman had done it to himself, and he would believe that with his entire being until proven otherwise.

 

  “Get a move on,” Zoro ground out through clenched teeth. So needy for him, Sanji mused as he drove two fingers into his unprepared body at once; getting off on the long, drawn out moan he got in return.

 

  “You know better than to test me when I’m trying to savor the taste of something,” he said, lips pressed against the shell of Zoro’s ear, enjoying the clinking sound the swordsman’s earrings made as he licked one, taking it into his mouth as he used his tongue to play with it.

 

All three were made of pure gold, he could tell.

 

  “Marimo, I can’t wait to fuck you,” he admitted, feeling the way Zoro’s body trembled at the words meant for only him to hear. The secrecy of them turned them both on to no end. “I’m having a hard time holding back....it’s been a while, but I want to make it perfect.”

 

  “It’s already perfect,” Zoro tried to reason, and it was the closest he would ever come to pleading with the cook.

 

  Sanji could have come right there and then. For everything Zoro wasn’t, what he was was something unlike anything Sanji had ever witnessed or experienced. His words could be guarded, misleading almost, but his body was the most honest thing that the blonde had ever possessed before in his life. The cook licked the side of Zoro’s neck, skimming his teeth along the smooth skin there, trying—and failing—to ignore the fresh scar that stained a prestigious back.

 

  “San—”

 

  “Don’t push me, marimo,” he warned, twisting his wrist as he fucked the swordsman on two greedy fingers, but it soon wasn’t enough. It never was. “You’ll regret it.”

 

  “I don’t regret _anything_ ,” Zoro grit out, groaning as Sanji added a third finger.

 

  Sanji hated the subtle way in which Zoro comforted him, especially during sex. It almost always threw him off guard, taking him completely out of the moment. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, almost mocking in his tone. “We’ll see about that.”

 

  The damned swordsman reveled in the burn he endured whenever Sanji breached him with a sudden sense of urgency and frustration. He loved that while he laid sprawled out completely naked, the cook remained upright and fully clothed—the dynamic made his cock throb. The only thing Sanji undid happened to be the zipper to his expensive dress pants so that he could retrieve his twitching cock, hard and desperate to fill the deep confines of Zoro’s body, and while the younger of the two didn’t mind topping, nothing could compare to the strength contained in Sanji’s lower body. If he got worked up enough during their trysts, Zoro would be unable to walk away from their sessions properly. He loved it—craved it, even, when they could afford to do so.

 

  Like now.

 

   “You gonna fuck me now, or what?” he asked, tilting his head so that he could see Sanji’s face as clearly as his long blonde hair would allow.

 

  The cook loathed that Zoro could see the flush that spread across his face like a wildfire, his hair disheveled as he craved a smoke now more than ever. “Don’t worry,” he said, pinning Zoro down with a hard stare and even harder kiss. “I’m about to shut you up properly.”

 

  “Yeah?”

 

  “ _Yeah_.”

 

  Sanji gripped Zoro’s hip with one hand, using the other to guide the tip of his cock to the other’s waiting hole. The deep blue of his irises studied the clean slice embedded in the swordsman’s back, studying it as he pressed into his body without restraint or caution, just the way Zoro liked it. His loud moan layered itself over a low, animal-like grunt, and Sanji could only smirk—pleased with himself in a manner he’d never admit out loud. Zoro bowed his head, but that wouldn’t do for the cook’s ego as he gripped the short strands of moss-like hair, yanking Zoro’s head back until their mouths could meet in a hungry kiss that stole their breath away. The swordsman was a panting mess by the time Sanji pulled away, careening his hips so that he pounded into a well sculpted body at his own pace.

 

  “Oh, fuck. Zoro,” he moaned, bottoming out once again, rolling his hips in steady waves to keep the pressure against Zoro’s prostate going—effectively driving the swordsman insane. “You’re so tight. So good for me.”

 

  Sanji thrived off the low moan Zoro released through pursed lips when he pulled all the way out only to slam all the way back in, repeating the process over and over as skin slapped against skin in a carnal-like symphony. The cook took to licking and biting at the nape of Zoro’s neck, mindful of his injury as he kept him pinned down with those hands he so adored. The sounds Zoro made were addicting, and Sanji could only crave more as he sunk his teeth into Zoro’s shoulder, one of his hands still positioned on the swordsman’s hip as the other reached under that sinful body to take his aching cock in hand, jerking him off in sync with his well-timed thrusts.

 

  Sanji loved to overwhelm him, to be everywhere all at once so that Zoro could think of nothing else but him, _feel_ nothing else but him. Zoro’s body took him so well, every drive of his hips. The swordsman often drained him of both strength and stamina, testing the endurance in the lethal weapons that were his long legs—Zoro could take it all, and he knew it.

 

  Abused it.

 

  “Cook...San—”

 

  “You can still talk?” Sanji inquired, a lone eyebrow cocked as he yanked Zoro’s head back, pounding into him with short, hard thrusts as he studied the other’s blissful expression, taking in his furrowed brows and swollen lips. He determined that _no one_ would ever be able to witness the swordsman in this manner. “I’m not doing my best then, am I? I can fix that.”

 

  The sharp gasp Zoro made as Sanji fucked into him with a renewed vigor not shown even to the cook’s enemies satisfied him on the deepest level one could reach. Zoro sought out Sanji’s mouth, and the cook could never deny him like this, his tongue tracing along the seal of Zoro’s lips. The two battled for dominance just like they always did in one form or another, but this version happened to be a lot more fun in Sanji’s opinion.

 

  “You feel so fucking good,” he said, panting against the side of Zoro’s neck, loving the way the marimo clenched down around him. “Heh. You love when I do that, right? When I praise you, you shitty swordsman?”

 

  Before Zoro could retort, Sanji impaled him on his cock, sucking a deep bruise into the side of his neck—marking him. It gave Sanji great pleasure that the green-haired bastard wouldn’t bother to try and hide it, embracing their existence instead. His hands roamed everywhere they could reach, seeking out those tender areas that would send jolts of pleasure throughout his being, mindful of the wound that traversed across his back.

 

  He couldn’t overlook it, as much as he tried.

 

  “You feel so good around my cock,” he said, trailing a tongue closely along the tarnished area of a proud back. “Like you were made just for this.”

 

  Whatever Zoro had been about to say died on his lips as Sanji’s tongue continued its journey south. A surprised grunt turned into an outright cry as Sanji continued mixing his tongue with his mouth occasionally, pistoning his hips as their time together drew to a close.

 

  Sanji didn’t want it to end, but reality of living on a pirate ship didn’t provide much—If any—privacy, and Zoro’s naked body was not meant for display. “Zoro, you gonna come for me soon? I know you want to,” he taunted, grinding against Zoro’s ass as the swordsman clutched the corners of the mat underneath him. “Heh. Be a good boy for me, alright? Unless you want to be caught?”

 

  Zoro shook his head no, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. Sanji was loathed to find it cute, but he couldn’t resist, moaning as the bastard clenched down around him even tighter, meeting him thrust for thrust as the blonde continued to rock his hips forward. _Close._

 

  So close.

 

  “You think you can come just like this?” he asked, hitting Zoro’s prostate head-on, chuckling as the swordsman let loose a string of incoherent curses. “Such a filthy mouth, huh? Just the way I like you.”

 

  That seemed to do the trick as Zoro began to rock back, setting an even more brutal pace for them. The cook knew then that Zoro was determined to come without his own cock being touched, and Sanji could only admire his tenacity as he held onto his hips, using all his strength to help push Zoro over the edge—never mind the fact that he was almost there himself. Sanji stole a kiss when Zoro tossed his head back, moaning as the bastard kissed back with the same amount of passion and urgency.

 

  “Fuck, I’m close,” he said, more so in warning than anything else at that point. Zoro gave just as good as he got, and that proved to be a terrifying concept as far as Sanji’s dick was concerned.  

 

  Zoro moaned, and fuck, if that wasn’t a beautiful sound to be nurtured and cherished as his thrusts became shorter and more concise as Sanji became determined to work him over, to give him everything he so deserved. The sweat that began to layer their skin made everything that much harder to grip, but Sanji didn’t allow that to stop him from holding onto Zoro’s broad shoulders, digging his fingers in until the skin beneath them bruised, until he felt something other than the mark across his back. Zoro had thrown his pride away for a dysfunctional sort-of love and Sanji would do anything, _anything_ to show him that he was just as dedicated.

 

  “Fucking hell, I can’t do this,” he cried, clutching at anything he could reach. “You fucking idiot. I love you.”

 

  Sanji could only repeat those three words over and over again until they were both falling over the edge, spiraling out of control. The cook collapsed down beside him, heaving for breath as his vision came into focus. The bastard had the nerve to glance over at him, smirking as he rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck in the process.

 

  “You going to be able to get over this?”

 

  Sanji stared at him with a hard glare, running his hand through his hair, both brows on display in a moment of trust. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I feel guilty.”

 

  “It was my decision and mine alone,” Zoro said, repeating himself. “I know you would do the same for me. There’s no need to try and prove yourself to me. If I didn’t trust it, or you, I wouldn’t have made the decision that I did, cook.”

 

  “I’ll be fine,” he promised.

 

  “You better be,” Zoro said, cupping Sanji’s cheek as the cook reached for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. “You can’t reach your dream with unnecessary regrets weighing you down. Don’t make my sacrifice worthless.”

 

  “As if I would ever do that, you shitty bastard!” he exclaimed, fuming as Zoro shot him another grin, feeling entirely too pleased with himself if Sanji had anything to say about it. “I’m going to find my dream, and you’ll find yours, and we’ll find them together.”

 

  Zoro leaned forward, kissing Sanji before he could light the end of his cigarette much to the cook’s annoyance. “You say the most unnecessary things,” he said, and it shouldn’t have turned Sanji on, but a lot of things turned him on that shouldn’t.   

 

  “You’re unnecessary,” he shot back, groaning as Zoro bit down on his bottom lip. “I hate you.”

 

  The damn marimo chuckled at that, low and sultry, and Sanji hated him even more for it. “You love me, and you know it,” he said, kissing him, nice and slow and perfect.

 

  “Shit, Brook’s gonna be up here any minute now!” he hollered, recalling their predicament at the last second. “We really need a new Island to dock at soon. I’m tired of fucking around like this!”

 

  Zoro rolled over, staring up at the ceiling as Sanji gathered his discarded pants, trying to make them look at least halfway decent as he searched for something to also clean the swordsman up with. “You want an Island so that we can sleep together in the same bed,” he said with a knowing look that made Sanji want to kick him, and he would have if not for the fact that he’d been completely drained of his strength.

 

  “Fuck you.”

 

  The bastard had the nerve to wink at him with his good eye. “You just did,” he said.

 

  Sanji left feeling sated and calm, something he wouldn’t have been able to have said a day or two ago. The doubts and fears he’d held on to for over a week melted, completely unfounded and diffused by a couple of shitty words and sentiments from an even shittier marimo. A small smile graced his mouth as he headed straight towards his domain, more determined now than he’d been before to reach his dreams, including the ones that included the bastard he’d left behind in the crow’s nest.  


End file.
